Stories of France and America
by really-america
Summary: I'm just making this as a place to dump all the miscellaneous, short, likely random FrUs shorts/prompts/etc. that I write, and maybe in the future I'll post a few more larger pieces as their own separate fics.
1. Chapter 1

"Oh, please," Francis said with an eye roll, "you're never here. You should really visit more. I enjoy your company." Alfred's cheeks tinged pink at this, and his face softened into a smile.

"I will. I like being here." He spoke honestly, lifting his drink to his lips and taking a small sip. "And of course you enjoy my company, I'm great." He added, teasing.

Francis rolled his eyes again and looked out the window at the pedestrians strolling leisurely up and down the street. He seemed quite happy. The war was over, things were getting better. And he was, even more so than he'd ever say, truly enjoying spending time with Alfred.

"Hey, you know, I've been wondering," Alfred began, causing Francis to turn back from the window. "Do you really believe in true love? I know that you say you do, of course, but do you actually? You don't act like it so I can't tell." Francis was taken aback slightly, but tilted his head.

"Quoi? Of course I believe in true love. I live in the city of love, my language is the language of love. Amour is the air I breathe, it is the blood in my veins. What makes you think that it is not, cher?"

"Well, I mean, you say all of that. But it doesn't seem like you really love anyone, or that you're concerned about finding anyone to love. You just like to have fun." Alfred told the Frenchman, taking a long sip of his drink. Francis sat open-mouthed a moment before responding.

"I have experienced true love in my life before, and I still feel that love despite the object of my affection being long gone. I think that love is a blessing, and I have been given my blessing already, years ago. I'm thankful for the time I got to spend as in love as I was, and I no longer feel a need to search for it. If someday it is to happen again, magnifique. But if not, I am no better or worse off."

Francis smiled and though there was a sadness to some of his words, there was also a clear sincerity. So that was it, then, Francis didn't believe he would get to love again. Alfred rested his arms on the café table in front of him. He knew what Francis was talking about as well, or rather, whom he was talking about, and so when he nodded it was in understanding for more than just how he felt about love in the abstract.

"I don't know how to recognize love, I guess. I can't tell if I've ever been in it." Alfred twiddled his thumbs. "What does it feel like?"

"Like home. Like fear and anger and sadness are somehow less powerful because nothing else has felt so strongly as the feeling of loving someone. Like smiling at nothing and being motivated by the thought of the one you love. And being loved in return, oh la la, it's baffling ecstasy. It's bliss you never imagined could be real. And it can be dark and painful and intimidating, too. But, ce n'est pas rien compared to how good it feels when things go right."

Alfred blinked as he listened to Francis' words roll off of his tongue and melt into the air. There was such an indescribable sweetness and earnest intent to them that the American had to wonder if the older man was in love with someone in that moment, despite what he'd said before. But he just asked another question.

"That was beautiful, but very general. How do you feel around someone you love? Like, what makes you realize you're in love with someone?" Alfred's eyes flickered to a couple strolling down the street and chatting, and then back to Francis as he awaited whatever wisdom the Frenchman might bestow upon him.

"They'll make you indescribably happy just by being in your presence. Your heart will hammer harder than you thought possible when you get lost in thought about them, and about the idea of loving them and their reciprocation of that love. Some mornings you'll wake up after dreaming of them and your face will hurt from smiling so hard. You'll realize that when people say they'd take a bullet for someone, that what you're feeling must be what they mean. You'll never forget a single person you ever love, jamais." Francis' voice dropped almost to a whisper for the last line, and he realized he'd been staring at the edge of the table as he spoke. He looked up at Alfred who was watching him with wide eyes and gave a small smile.

"I think," Alfred began slowly, crumpling his brows and nose. "that I've been in love. Or, well... Yeah." Now Francis' brows raised, a curious smile creeping onto his face.

"Mon ami, you can't simply tell me that without telling me who. Tell France all about it, I'm intrigued." Francis waggled his fingers at Alfred, enthusiastic.

"Heh," Alfred scratched the back of his head. "Well, there was this person. One of the first to really believe in me both as a person and as a nation. Taught me that people have faith in you easier if you have some in yourself to start. Even the stuff that they do that pisses me off, it doesn't, you know, actually piss me off. And without a thought, when they were in trouble, I did my absolute best to help. And would do it again in a flash. I guess you could say I love him." His eyes widened as he realized what he said.

"THEM! Them." He added quickly, as Francis' eyes widened. Alfred felt heat burning in his face and chest, and he could feel his pulse pounding away.

Francis felt frozen. He was trying to process, trying to reason through what'd just happened. Because what he thought— and what he didn't want to admit his heart was hoping had happened— was that Alfred had just told Francis that he was in love with him. Maybe he meant Arthur? But Arthur hadn't believed in him since he was young. There was no other explanation. Francis felt a giddy fear inside.

"Perhaps, mon lapin, I was wrong." He replied, each word slow and precise. Alfred swallowed hard.

"About what?" He asked, afraid that Francis would quickly call him out on his slip up and shut him down. Francis licked his lips before he spoke again.

"Peut-être, my one true love has not been and gone. Maybe it's the person who has inspired me for as long as we've known one another. The one who has taught me to see life through youthful eyes, no matter how many years pass. The one who has saved me innumerable times in so many different ways. Maybe I love him." And Francis didn't correct himself.

"Him?" Alfred asked, quietly. Voice almost a squeak. How uncharacteristic and charming, Francis thought.

"Him."


	2. Chapter 2

"Alfred, my favorite kind of day is the kind of day where the grass looks like it was colored by a kindergartner, and the sky looks like the softly dabbled work of a French impressionist, and where the face of the one that I love is like a masterpiece that could transcend all ages. And with you, mon amant, every day is that sort of day." Francis told his boyfriend out of the blue from where he lay, sprawled across his legs on their picnic blanket under the 6 o'clock sky.

"You're my favorite type of day, too, Fran." And he kissed him on the nose.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred knew that he was being what some might call 'childish' in his quest for as many autographs from face characters as possible, but he was not going to let that get him down while he was at the most magical place on earth— Disney World!

He flicked his eyes back and forth between his character list and the park map, trying to determine which character he should go to next. Ariel was closer, but Beast was going to be moving to another section of the park in fifteen minutes. Deciding on Beast, he tucked the papers back into his backpack and started walking towards the meet and greet spot.

As he came up to the location, he noticed there wasn't any 'Beast' to be seen. He checked the character listing in his pamphlet, worried that he'd misread the time and went out of his way for nothing, only to find that the list said "Adam (Beast)". He squinted at the words a moment as he tried to remember what Beast looked like at the end of the movie, and then looked up. Upon doing so, he saw a man so stunning he was practically glimmering in the hot Florida sun. And he was posing for pictures with children, so Alfred's sneaking suspicion that he was the Adam he was looking for was confirmed.

He got in line behind a group of three little girls– all dressed as Belle –and their mothers, and pulled out his autograph book and pen. When the little girls ran off after kissing Beast on the cheeks, Alfred straightened his shoulders and approached.

"Hi, uh, Adam. Could I get you to sign my book really quick, please?" Alfred almost laughed aloud as he saw the mere millisecond that the actor faltered as he wondered why an adult was getting his signature when there were no children in sight, before the man slipped right back into character and smiled wide.

"Of course," He replied, a hint of an accent in his words that made Alfred wonder if that what part of the act as well. "What is your name, sir, so I can make it out to you?"

"Alfred, heh, but just your signature will do." The actor nodded politely at him, and scribbled his character's name onto Alfred's page with a flourish.

"Thanks." Alfred said as stuffed the book in his pocket. The man nodded again.

"It was my pleasure,"

As he turned to go, Alfred reached for his map again to check Ariel's time slot. He was getting hungry and was hoping he could stop and get something to eat and still make it to her. An order of cheese fries sounded really good.

Francis made a face to himself as he watched the young man leave with his map in hand, likely going to go to more character experience's. As he spotted a little boy coming up to him from the corner of his eye, he melted back into Adam and waved pleasantly in his direction.

After smiling for a photo and giving him a hug, he slipped his phone out of his costume pocket and peeked at the time. He had to be across the park in five minutes. He knew he should've cut off the meet and greet before the birthday party group of girls came up, but that mattered little now. He just had to get to his next post, and quickly, so that there wouldn't be time for any rich mothers to put in complaints about park service that'd get him fired.

Rushing along, he realized he'd have to cross the train tracks to get to his spot, and he crossed his fingers that there wasn't a train coming. But of course, with his luck, there was. Not immediately, exactly. But when he got to the crossing, the gates were already down. He bit his lip to keep from cursing. Looking left and right, he didn't see any imminent train.

I can cross it quickly, there's no park security around, there's not even a lot of park guests nearby. It's no big deal, he thought.

However, after he ducked under the gate and started to walk to the other, the train was much closer than he'd guessed. He was mid-track as the train was speeding up towards the crossing and for a split second he thought he was going to die. But just before the train was upon him, he felt something else crash into him and knock him over hard enough that he fell completely off the tracks.

Blinking the blurriness of panic from his eyes, he saw that it was that Alfred boy from earlier. He'd tackled him out of the way of the train. He'd... risked his own life for Francis', without even really knowing him. Francis was in awe.

"Merde." He whispered, running a hand through his hair. Aside from a slight scuff on his costume boot and what was probably going to be a very bruised back the next day, he escaped a life or death experience unscathed, thanks to the (handsome, he noted) blond man who was pushing himself off of Francis and helping the two of them up. Ducking under the other gate and brushing themselves off, Francis cleared his throat.

"Thank you, euh, for that. I was stupid and thought I could make it in time and... Simply put, you are my hero. I don't know what else to say." He watched, red faced, as the young man swelled with pride as he thanked him.

"Oh, jeez, thank you. I mean, uhm. No problem. I just saw that you were in need of a little assistance and figured I could help. So, you're welcome. Yeah." He responded awkwardly. Francis bobbed his head.

"Yes, well. I should get going to my spot, as since I'm still alive I'm still expected to be there. But, is there anything I can do to say merci for your saving me? I could get you a table at the Be Our Guest restaurant or something, if you'd like." Alfred shook his head before Francis even finished speaking.

"No, no, you don't have to do anything. I just did what I did because I didn't wanna see you get hurt. I appreciate the offer, though." Alfred told Francis, grinning. Nodding, and straightening his costume, Francis looked into Alfred's eyes.

"Ah, oui, of course. Thank you again, and enjoy your day at Walt Disney World." He turned to go before he made a fool of himself, as he was flustered beyond belief. Francis was not used to, in the slightest, experiencing a lapse in his confidence and suave conversation skills. There was something about this young man- who had at first seemed odd and immature, and had then saved his life -that had him a wreck. Or maybe that was just how he was recovering from the trauma he had only just went through. Either way, he wanted to flee.

"Wait," Alfred called, causing him to turn back. "There is one thing you could do for me." Francis faced him fully, ready to offer anything he could to show his gratitude.

"What?"

"Go out on a date with me when you get off of work." Francis blinked, a bit surprised, before slipping into a smooth grin.

"Sounds fair enough, oui, I'll give you my number."

"Perfect."


	4. Chapter 4

Francis did not often visit the British colonies in America, considering it was a sort of reminder that he hadn't a claim there, and that the Louisiana territory nearby that technically belonged to him was uncharted and of little import. In essence, visiting had no point for the most part. A waste of a trip across the sea. But he went occasionally to see Alfred.

At first it was out of curiosity to see how he'd grown up. But that first time meeting Alfred since he'd been a small child changed his purpose of dropping by entirely. Something about Alfred endeared him instantly. He was young, ambitious, strong, naive, and brilliant and foolish all at once. Alfred told him frequently he was gonna be something someday, big and important. And Francis believed him.

So, these trips to see his excitable friend became regular. And despite the slow but evident increase in frequency of him coming to see him, Alfred was just as glad to see him every time.

Due to some very time consuming business at home, however, there was a large gap in his visits. He wrote Alfred telling him he missed traveling over and would come to the Americas as soon as he could, to which Alfred had written back that he missed his visits but he understood and that he was dealing with some things himself. Hearing he was missed as well brought a smile to Francis' face and had him all the more eager to see the energetic young man again.

So he was not as deterred from his good mood when he arrived and did not see Alfred waiting on the dock for him as he always did as he might've been, but rather curious as to why instead. He fetched a horse and headed through town and then towards Alfred's farmhouse, wondering what was occupying him.

On his way he saw stroves of British soldiers marching along the streets or talking to citizens with stern looks upon their faces and he began to grow worried about what he'd walked into and what had occurred in his absence. He fretted over Alfred.

When he got to the farm where Alfred lived, he did not see the boy working in the fields or tending animals as he had expected. He walked up to the door and knocked. There was no response. He let himself in.

It was quiet, so quiet. Eerie enough as it was, it was even less common when Alfred was involved, as he was a boy who filled nearly every room he entered with his voice. And sometimes, if you were lucky, you could watch his face light up as a chorus of rowdy laughter spilled from his lips. But there was no yelling or chuckling of any kind to be heard. Only the sounds of the animals and wind outside could be heard, muffled, through the walls. And then something else.

It was soft enough that Francis didn't notice it at first, but as he walked gently down the hall of Alfred's home, then he heard it. Sobbing.

Francis followed the sound to the door of Alfred's study. Pushing open the door, the sound stopped abruptly.

Alfred lifted his head from his desk and scrubbed the tears from his face, frantically scrambling to pull himself together. He forced a smile at Francis.

"Oh, today was the day you were arriving, wasn't it? Apologies, I've been so busy lately. I'm sorry, it completely slipped my mind." He said, voice wavering. Francis crossed the room and took Alfred into his arms where he—almost immediately—resumed crying.

"Alfred, mon cher, what in gods name happened?" Francis asked, hands rubbing up and down Alfred's back as he took heaving breaths while sobbing.

"I-I just wanted t-to talk about sometime in the f-future going off o-on my own," he took a steadying inhale, "but he wouldn't even hear it. 'You're still a child' he said. 'You have no idea what you're getting into'. I tried to tell him it wasn't just me, that my people were unhappy, too. They escalated things and now... Things are very bad and I'm going to have to fight a war against an empire all by myself just to be free." Alfred sniffled, rubbing his nose.

"He was never really the ideal brother, considering how far away he was, but there was a time when we were at least able to communicate without fighting. And I felt cared about. But now I feel so alone and unloved and scared. And I am burdening you with all of this, I'm sorry. I'm just so tired."

"Non, Alfred. You are not burdening me. And you are loved. Vous êtes tellement aimé. Your people love you," Francis paused a moment. "I love you."

Alfred blinked his wet eyes up at Francis. Of course his words didn't fix all that he had to face, but knowing someone cared what happened to him. Someone loved him. It was exactly what he needed.

"I love you, too." And he buried his face into Francis. And Francis stood by him and held him until he fell asleep against the desk. When Alfred lay snoring against the wood, Francis went and grabbed the quilt from Alfred's bed and brought it and draped it around his shoulders.

He had a feeling he could not avoid getting involved with the growing divide between Alfred and Arthur if this was how Alfred would feel until he could have his freedom.

But for the moment, he stood in the doorway watching his sleeping face.


	5. Chapter 5

Francis was utterly set on getting a cat. He even had the image of himself on his couch in the evening with a fluffy cat on his lap in his mind as he walked into the shelter, but he had no idea what he was getting into.

Strolling down the rows of animals, he stopped to pet just about every other creature. The dogs were cute too, sure, but he still wanted a cat. When he reached the end of the aisle he was in, he saw the playpen where the animals could be let out of their cages to stretch their legs a couple of times a day. In the pen, and wearing a shelter volunteer badge, he saw a blond young man happily rubbing the belly of a huge golden retriever.

When the volunteer spotted Francis he beamed up at him and stood up from his playful crouch to greet him.

"Hi! Welcome to Daly's Pet Shelter. I'm Alfred, and I'm here to help you find a pet that'll suit you, your home, and your lifestyle. And then I'll help you get through the boring but necessary paperwork as quickly as possible." Francis nodded slightly as the worker spoke.

"Ah, hello. I'm Francis. I'm looking to get a cat. Preferably one that is puffy and soft. Any good candidates?" While Francis was talking, Alfred motioned for the dog to roll back onto its feet and sit, and once it did, Alfred stood gently patting the dog's head while he listened to the patron.

"I wouldn't narrow your options just yet, as it's always better to pick a pet that'll love you and that has a personality you'll love too rather than getting one that just looks cool. But there are a lot of really stylish animals with awesome personalities as well, so we'll see what we can do for you. Before we go for a stroll to see some of the likely potential pets for you, I'd like ya to meet my home dog. His name is Washington, isn't that right, boy?" Alfred paused to scratch the dogs chin. "He's been here since he was a puppy. He came into the shelter my second week volunteering, and has been here ever since. He joins me whenever I'm helping customers. He and I, we're like two peas in a pod. I'd adopt him myself if my college dorm allowed dogs. But alas, the cruel world keeps us apart. Anyway, you said cats, right? Let's go."

Alfred grabbed a clipboard with a piece of paper and a pen on it, and began to walk Francis towards the cat section, Washington trotting along beside them. Francis felt like listening to this young man speak was a whirlwind that made him dizzy, but was still very focused on finding himself a cat. Maybe a white one, even.

"So, Francis, what're you looking for in a pet? Remember, whatever furry friend you take home, they're gonna be your new permanent roommate. You're gonna wanna make sure your personalities are compatible, y'know, so you can get along." Alfred looked much more serious than he had when Francis had come up on him playing with Washington, but there was still a sort of lighthearted look in his eyes. It seemed, simply, he loved the work of volunteering at the shelter and took his job seriously, but also enjoyed it thoroughly. Francis thought that was very sweet. He tucked his hair behind his ears and he thought about how to respond for a moment.

"I don't think I want a cat that is too independent, as I know some cats can be. I want a cat that will enjoy cuddling for long periods of time, will be excited to see me when I walk in the door, and that will want to curl up in my bed every night." Alfred began to scribble something down on his clipboard, and Francis flushed as he realized the things he wanted in a cat where very similar to those which he hoped to find in a partner as well.

"Do you want a cat that'll want to go outside? Or would you prefer one that will be an indoor cat who's comfortable with little space?" Francis felt relieved as Alfred went on while still looking at his paper, seeming oblivious to the heat in his cheeks.

"I'd be fine with an outdoor cat as long as they're not prone to running away. And I–" Francis was distracted as Washington nudged his way in between he and Alfred and began to nuzzle his hand. Francis saw the shiny gleam in the dogs eyes and couldn't help but rub his snout. "I just want a pet that will be loyal and the right amount of needy without being whiny, you know?"

"Oh, absolutely! And definitely one that's soft, for watching movies on the couch together. I have good news and bad news for ya." Alfred said, looking Francis in the face. He raised his brows in question.

"What's the good news?"

"I think I have just the pet for you, fits your description to a 'T'." Alfred told him with a jolly grin on his face. Francis swallowed hard.

"And the bad news?"

"It's not a cat." Alfred said simply.

Francis' heart thrummed. He peered through his lashes at Alfred, wondering if the young man was going to be blunt and ask him out or if he'd make light of his very sudden and very obvious flirting. Either way, he was certainly intrigued.

"It's Washington. This fuzzy dude has been looking for a home for two and a half years now, and he sounds like exactly what you need and what he needs in return is love and a place just big enough for some goofing around. I know you asked me about a cat, and I'm sure I could show you some you'd like, but I think you and my buddy here are a perfect match. Whaddaya say?" He meant the dog. He was talking about the dog. Francis stood silently a minute, processing. He looked down at the dog who was panting up at him, and then back up at Alfred who's eyes looked about the same as his doggy friend's.

"He does seem really sweet." Alfred nearly cheered at Francis' reply. He clapped him on the shoulder enthusiastically.

"That's what I'm talking about! Let's get the business over with and he's all yours. All I ask is that you bring him by or let me see the two of you every now and then, because I think I might miss him too much otherwise." Alfred laughed, but was smiling from ear to ear. Francis felt hot from head to toe. He let the cute boy and cute dog talk him out of his dream cat. But maybe that was for the best.

"D'accord, sounds like a deal."

/you know that when Francis and Alfred hung out at a dog park together with Washington after this, and then when Alfred invited the two of them back to his dorm for lunch and Francis saw that Al had a fluffy white cat named Lafayette he saw that as a sign that they were meant to be and they would eventually live happily ever after, too/


	6. Chapter 6

Alfred shut his eyes, an arm draped over them as well, as he attempted to pretend the hissing whistles and thundering explosions weren't what they were. He was off duty, for the moment, laying in his tiny canvas tent and listening to the war that raged nearby.

With his eyes closed he thought of fireworks on the Fourth of July. He thought of barbecues and sparklers and picnics and waving flags. But eventually those thoughts wrapped around to the very war he fought to earn the independence he'd proclaimed on that day, and he could see behind his eyelids the explosions and fallen friends all those years ago. Which did him absolutely no good in clearing his mind from the horrors of the battle he was amidst so that he might get to sleep before he had to be up and fighting again.

Groaning, he pulled his sleeping bag up over his face in hopes of drowning out the war— drowning out reality.

Thinking of the fourth had done one good thing, however; thinking about his independence had reminded Alfred why fighting the war against the nazis was so important. Not only did everyone deserve the liberties and freedoms he had, but he was there in large part for Francis. The man who'd helped him be himself needed his help and he'd be damned if he didn't try his best to provide it.


	7. Chapter 7

Alfred wanted to disappear. Well, really he didn't, but he was ashamed and had no clue what to do. He'd broken down crying like a baby when Francis had asked him how he was doing, smiling and making small talk over the dinner they'd sat down to. He just couldn't say 'good' with a false grin, again. Not to Francis.

"Cher, what's wrong? What is making you so sad?" The concern in Francis' eyes made Alfred cry harder, which only made him more angry at himself. He hated crying in front of other people.

Stop crying, he chanted in his head. Get it together. He took several deep breaths, not looking up at all, before answering him.

"I'm just so scared, Francis. No one likes me and I'm already becoming less important. I'm so young, I should still be in my prime! What if I fade into obscurity and end up just a faint memory to everyone, remembered only as that one annoying kid? I can't stand it and I'm so panicked about it that I can't even focus on my work, lately, which just gives everyone more reason to hate me." He paused, balling his hands up into fists. "And everyone else is so stressed out, I don't want to bother them with my breakdown. So I just smile and act like I always do, since it is my problem, after all. But now I've gone and burdened you, one of the only people who actually likes and cares about me. I'm sorry, don't worry."

Francis got up from his seat across the table and sat right beside Alfred. He pulled the American's hands to him and held them tightly in his own, eyes wide as he stared at his tear-stained cheeks.

"Not all art goes down in history, but you are undoubtedly the greatest masterpiece in existence— in my opinion." Alfred met Francis' eyes before he answered.

"Really?"

"Oui. Alfred, mon amour, you are the embodiment of hope and sunshine. Sure, some of the others might not always be happy with you, but it's usually because they are jealous of your strength and power, or want you to do something and will complain rather than do it themselves. That's what it is to be a superpower. And I think you're doing a wonderful job. Mistakes aside, you're doing your best. I'm proud of you."

And Alfred cried again, but without shame. This time happy, contented tears. With his face against Francis' shoulder, and his curls brushing his cheek.


	8. Chapter 8

Alfred cradled his thumb in his not-fucked-up hand, eyes glancing about the waiting room of the ER for something to distract him from the throbbing pain of the injury. He had been dicking around on his phone with one hand since he'd arrived at the hospital, in order to preoccupy himself, but as his phone died so did his ability to ignore how much his thumb hurt.

His head turned as he heard the automatic doors swish open, and he watched as a lean blond man went to the sign in desk, was probably told he had a ridiculous amount of time to wait before he could get help, and then scanned the room for a free seat. All while tightly clutching the bridge of his nose. Alfred pretended he hadn't been watching the guy as he spotted the empty chair next to him and made his way over.

"Hello," Alfred said with a half-wave of his good hand. The man smiled slightly.

"Bonjour." He replied, sounding horrendously nasally due to the seemingly broken nose he was trying to hold gently. Alfred made a sympathetic sort of face.

"That looks rough, dude. Get in a fight?" He asked. Some person by the last name of Carriedo was called up by the desk clerk. Broken-nose guy shook his head.

"Not unless getting hit in the face by a flailing toddler counts as a fight, non. Just a rather embarrassing accident." He chuckled and then cringed in pain, shifting to face Alfred in his seat. His face was good looking and well groomed, but the purplish color spreading from his nose looked pretty bad and distracted from his nice appearance.

"I bet that you'd think how I broke my thumb is more embarrassing." Alfred offered with a grin.

"I am not the type to gamble with someone I do not know, but I also very much doubt that." Said the man, crossing his ankles. He had one brow arched in what was likely intrigue. Alfred laughed a little.

"I'm Alfred. And I didn't mean it literally, of course. I wouldn't make a bet with a random guy either. But dude, trust me, my story is more embarrassing."

"Francis," The blond introduced himself, taking one of his hands away from his nose long enough to give Alfred's outstretched non-damaged hand a quick shake. "Alright, then, tell me how you came to injure your hand."

"Well, to make the story simple, I was playing Mario Kart with my brother and we both got really into it and he accidentally flung his controller and it smashed my thumb against my own and I'm pretty sure it's broken. That's about it." Alfred admitted quickly, cheeks a little red as he shrugged his shoulders. Francis snorted and then winced.

"You win, definitely. Also, how old are you? /Mario Kart/?" Francis told Alfred, trying not to laugh to avoid hurting himself. Alfred carefully crossed his arms.

"I'm nineteen. I'm an adult. Mario Kart is a classic for all ages, don't fight me on this." He replied with a deadpan look that caused Francis to roll his eyes and nearly snort again.

"Whatever you say,"

"Mr. Jones," called the desk clerk, causing Alfred to look up and away from Francis. "A doctor will see you now." Alfred threw a big grin at his new acquaintance and then stood, still holding his thumb.

"Nice to meet ya, Francis. Hope the doctors fix your nose up nicely." He walked off and shortly disappeared through the ER doors, leaving Francis alone. He sat back in his chair and found himself wondering about the charming young man who had broken his thumb playing video games. And, oddly and unexpectedly, he hoped that he would see him again.


	9. Chapter 9

/1938/

The sunset was fiery red and orange outside the window of Alfred's home in New Orleans. Things had been bad for him for a while, ever since the stock market crash in '20, but just recently a good friend had convinced him that he needed a little time off. At first he'd resisted fully, but then he realized he really had been working hard for quite a long while and could use some relaxation. And after a bit of thought, he decided that he wanted to take a trip to one of his places in Louisiana for a few weeks, accompanied by the very friend who had dragged him away from the craziness.

Francis crawled across the bed to where Alfred sat, looking out at the vibrant evening sky, and began to press needy kisses over his shoulder and up his neck. This caught Alfred's attention and brought him back to earth from his wandering thoughts.

"Beg your pardon, I went in my head there for a minute. But nothing can hold my attention very long when you're around, Fran. Not with those lips of yours." The young American said with a smirk and tired eyes. Francis went for the button on Alfred's grey slacks.

"Speaking of, mon amant, I'd like to put them to work." Francis told him. Alfred sat back against the headboard, folding his hands behind his head and sighing in contentedness. He half-watched as Francis undid his pants and began to tug them down, and half-zoned out in pleasant anticipation of the fun he was about to have.

Francis slid his hands up Alfred's thighs and to his hips, thumbs rubbing in circles as he pressed his lips repeatedly over Alfred's abdomen. Alfred tangled his fingers into Francis' bedhead and smiled.

"Hey, Francis," Francis looked up from what he'd been doing, which consisted of wiggling his fingers underneath the waistband of Alfred's underwear, to see a very soft look in the younger man's eyes.

"Oui, qu'est-ce que c'est?" Alfred brought his hand down to the cheek of the Frenchman who was blinking up at him.

"I love you." There was a paused as Francis processed what he'd said, and decided whether or not to answer. But his heart swelled and he placed one of his hands atop Alfred's at his face.

"Je t'adore."

And then he proceeded to wiggle Alfred's boxers off and kiss and nibble all over the man who had his heart and who's heart was his.

— — —

/1938-1939/

When Francis had to go at the end of their little excursion, Alfred waved him off and hugged him very tight. Francis wouldn't stop whispering "I'm sorry– I'm sorry, I have to go, mon amour,". Alfred tried to reassure him he understood, that especially with how hectic things were in Europe lately he appreciated that Francis came to see him at all, but Francis was still teary as he boarded the ship that'd take him home.

And so was Alfred. When he went back to his house in D.C., he found himself crying and he didn't understand why. He told himself he'd see Francis again soon enough, that there was nothing to cry over. But then it hit him. What he was upset about was not that he'd miss him, while of course that was true as well, but that he was terrified about being in love.

His heart was no longer his own, and he knew he would put Francis before himself in every way he could.

So when, less than a full year later, France was invaded by Germany, he found himself itching to head overseas.

"Your work is here, Alfred," his boss reminded him, "this isn't our war. Not to mention, it's not as if our economic trouble has vanished. Why're you so concerned about putting everyone here in danger to help out Europe?"

Because I love him. I love him and my heart is breaking that there's nothing I can do. He's suffering and I miss him and I'm scared for him. I love him, I love him, I love him.

"To help now would be our ruin, Alfred."

And still, Alfred thought, I'm willing.

— — —

/1944/

A month or so had passed since the Allied invasion of Normandy. Alfred was battered and bruised, and so was everyone else. You couldn't scarcely go an hour without hearing explosions of some kind as the heat of battle raged on nearby. His grip on his weapon tightened.

I'm on my way Francis, he thought with such solemnity that it was like a silent prayer, I'm coming for you.

— — —

When Alfred finally found Francis, who was a mere ghost of himself and so bloodied that one couldn't even make out the color of his skin or hair, the first thing he wanted to do was lift him into a hug and carry him to safety from the bunker where he'd been kept. But the years he'd spent waiting had done quite a number on him, and he even flinched and shied away from the touch of his lover. Alfred felt his heart shatter as he watched some of the French resistance who were fighting alongside the allies run to him and begin talking to their country rapidly so as to get him to stand up and get running. Francis wouldn't meet his eyes and Alfred was sinking through the floor.

I took too long, he thought, he'll never forgive me.

— — —

/1946/

Alfred was nervous all through the U.N. meeting. Not so much because of the topics discussed or anything, though that was stress-inducing too, but because he and Francis hadn't spoken but a few times since he'd found him two years before. The war was over, thankfully, but he just needed to talk to Francis.

After the meeting closed, he jogged up behind Francis and gently grabbed his arm, causing him to turn.

"Francis, I really–"

"It's okay, mon cher, you don't have to say anything. Je sais. Come stay at my home for a little while, it'll be like before." Alfred smiled tentatively, glad that Francis wasn't cold or standoffish. Why he had expected him to be, he wasn't sure, but nevertheless he was glad.

"I'd love to, but, I was just thinking we could go to my house in New Orleans." He suggested in a voice that was uncharacteristically soft for him. Francis' heart felt light as he smiled at the boy.

"Ah, d'accord. Allons-y!"


	10. Chapter 10

As Alfred's microwave beeped at him to let him know that his pizza rolls were done, he heard the faint sound of a Skype call ringing from his laptop's speakers a room away. Glancing at the clock, and pulling the snack out, Alfred saw that it was five in the evening.

"Shit," he griped, running– while trying to balance his food– to his computer. He set the hot plate of carbs down on the table. Running a hand through his hair at the last second, he slammed the answer button and beamed at the camera.

After a moment of blurry connection, Alfred could see his boyfriend on the screen looking back at him. He waggled his fingers.

"Hello there, gorgeous, how was your day?" The long haired blonde who's face was before him sat silent for a second as their call lagged. Then, hearing Alfred's greeting, a wide and pleased smile spread on his cheeks.

"Bon soir, mon ami. My day has been fine but it is much better now that I'm talking to you." His eyes went flirty and Alfred laughed happily, popping a pizza roll into his mouth.

"So what's up?" The American asked brightly, leaning back onto his couch, his words sounding more like 'o w'at uh' as they were formed around a half-chewed mouthful of food. His boyfriend wrinkled his nose at the lack of manners, but understood Alfred perfectly due to how common an occurrence it was for him to speak with his mouth stuffed full.

"I worked my shift at the store, made absolutely no progress on my art, and came home and took a nap. And now I'm talking to you." Alfred slouched forward a bit.

"I'm sorry, was today one of those creative block sort of days?" He asked gently. Francis nodded.

"More like a creative block sort of month... My art has been slow and not of good quality. I don't know what's wrong there. But really though, I'm so happy to talk to you. It cheers me up despite it all." Francis replied earnestly, bright eyes locked on the camera. Alfred's fingers twitched as he wished he could brush Francis' hair from his face and caress his cheek and whisper in his ear that everything would be alright.

"I'm glad I make you happy, because you make me the happiest guy alive, so, it's good to know I return at least a little bit of that." His grin of love at Francis stretched from ear to ear, causing the other man to coo a little and then laugh. Francis bent away from the camera and then lifted a sketch pad and charcoal up.

"Maybe drawing the most beautiful person I know will get me out of my artistic funk. Sit still, mon amour."

And so the evening went on in that way. Francis did a rough sketch of that indescribable smile of Alfred's, showed it to him, and then blushed as Alfred fawned over it. The two caught up on the little things and talked about the future until both were yawning into oblivion.

"Francis, you have work tomorrow. You've got to go, dude, or else you'll regret it." Alfred said with pursed lips and fake judgmental eyes. Francis rolled his shoulders, blinking his droopy eyes.

"Peut-être, but maybe I will regret the loss of time of seeing your face more so." Alfred snorted and shook his head.

"No, no, I know you. You'll regret the lack of sleep more. Go sink into your bed like you know you want to." Francis conceded a nod.

"Oui, oui, I would like to go to bed. Preferably with you, but, you are right, nonetheless. Goodnight, Alfred. Je t'aime beaucoup."

"I love you, too, Francis. G'night."

A few days later, approaching the month that contained Alfred and Francis' birthdays, Francis walked down the aisle of a small grocery store deciding what to buy for the week. As his squinted and looked back and forth between two incredibly similar jars of something or other, his phone began to ring. Without even looking he brought it to his ear.

"Salut," He said, shifting to hold the phone with his shoulder. He was surprised at what he heard on the other end.

"Hey, Francis. Can we skype?" Alfred's voice asked quickly and cheerfully. Francis raised a brow.

"Quoi?" Glancing at his watch and seeing that it was about ten in the morning, his confusion was deepened. "Is it not two o'clock A.M. where you are? What is the hurry, do you miss me so much?"

"Uhm. Yes. Are you out?" Francis set a jar in the basket he carried over his arm.

"Oui, just doing a little grocery shopping. I'm almost finished, though, so I will hurry home. Just be patient, cher."

"Will do, babe. See you soon." Francis chuckled at the excitement in his boyfriends voice. He was such an eager young man.

"Alright, mon amour, talk to you then."

Francis hummed softly to himself as he walked up towards his apartment door. He shifted his weight to balance the shopping bag he carried against his hip and leg, and began to dig in his pocket for his keys. Before he found them however, one hand snatched his purchases and another spun him around.

There, grinning like a fool and sweating a little from standing in the sun, stood Alfred.

"Alfred?! You nearly just scared me to death! Oh mon dieu. I am so happy you are here! Why are you here? What on earth are you doing here?" Alfred gently set the bag on the sidewalk before wrapping his arms tightly around Francis' torso and spinning him around gleefully. Francis fought off giggles that bubbled in his stomach at the pure joy he felt to have Alfred there, corporeal and solid and handsome as ever. Right in front of him, hugging him, spinning him. And then kissing him. When the pulled away Alfred explained.

"I took the month off to come and spend here, so we can both see each other in person for our birthdays. And because I wanted to see you, anyway. And I thought a surprise would be nice. I hope it won't be a problem." He got a little bashful towards the end, but Francis merely shook his head and cupped Alfred's cheeks in his hands.

"It is absolutely not a problem at all, mon amant. Now, let's get inside so I can unwrap the best possible early birthday present you could ever have gotten me."

"Yeah, let's," Alfred agreed, locking their lips again and beginning their journey to the door, inside, and to Francis' waiting bedroom.


	11. Chapter 11

So many stories tell of the moment a person falls in love, the tumultuous moment that they begin to adore someone. But that sort of instantaneous love, however idyllic, isn't something very common or explainable.

A person could love without knowing it, which was why Francis never believed a word a person had to say when they wanted to tell the story of when they fell in love. It wasn't the love that made Francis skeptical, however, he'd loved too deeply and too often in his life to question anyone else's love's believability, no that wasn't it. It was the notion of a singular second, a heartbeat passing, being when love starts.

Francis believed that love was something like filling a cup with water. The droplets of feelings for a person keep adding up until at last one final drop makes the cup run over, the water spilling over the sides, and it's only then that you realize that the cup had been filling all along. It's then that you realize you're in love.

That's what Francis saw those supposed "I fell in love in that moment" stories as. As moments of realization that one's heart was filled and overflowing with love.

And it was a cool December morning, his hand curled at the bare hip of his still snoozing boyfriend, that he had one of these realizations. It wasn't the first time in his life, of course. He'd lived so long and loved so much, but it was surprising nonetheless.

The room was cold and he'd pressed closer to the American who's bed he was in, arm tightening around him, and a small noise of contentedness escaped his boyfriends unconscious mouth. That little sound did something to Francis that had his throat dry, his eyes stinging, and his cheeks hot. That tiny noise was the last drop. Francis realized he was in love. Once again, deeply, achingly, stupidly in love. And with Alfred, no less. What a complete mess.

A mess, but one he'd handle with grace.


	12. Chapter 12

Francis, though he teased the other occasionally, got along better than almost anyone else with Alfred. Of course Alfred teased him as well, but it was never the way it was with the rest of the nations. Never those low-blow comments, never anything that actually hit home when they joked around. And this was something Alfred appreciated. A break from genuine taunting replaced instead with playful banter was a welcome change. Francis was a welcome change; a good prospect for something, perhaps friendship or at least a closer political bond, and Alfred wondered why he hadn't noticed it before.

So, as yet another long-winded and not very productive world meeting in his capital came to a close, he found himself jogging after the Frenchman.

"Francis! Yo!" Alfred called, waving a hand. Francis did a double take over his shoulder, and then stopped walking and turned to face the bright eyed boy.

"Yes, Alfred, what do you need?" Francis replied, shooting Alfred a smile. Alfred clapped a hand down onto his shoulder.

"It's not so much that I need anything, actually." Alfred grinned. "But, well, I wanted to know if you'd booked yourself a hotel room. If not, you're welcome to crash at my place. I don't usually offer my super luxurious guest room up, but you're a lot less of an asshole than any other candidates for staying with me." Francis was sort of surprised at the offer, and chuckled at Alfred's joking. He shook his head.

"Non, I have not yet found somewhere to spend the night. I'll take you up on this. You're not an 'asshole' like many of the others that will be staying at the local hotel, where I would've ended up without you allowing me to stay at your home, either. Merci, Alfred." Alfred rifled in his pocket for his keys while Francis spoke, laughing when the Frenchman responded to his calling him 'not an asshole'. He bobbed his head. Looking up as he pulled out his keys and jangling them, he smiled wide at Francis again.

"Awesome, let's go, then!"

At Alfred's house, Francis cooked them a meal. Alfred ate his food ridiculously fast, but was also quick to thank Francis for his effort and clean the kitchen and happily show the Frenchman to his guest bedroom.

"Yeah, I figure we don't stay up too late tonight, and then tomorrow before you fly home we can do something cool like go see a movie or whatever." Francis nodded at Alfred's words, some odd tightness in his chest at the American's Crest-white smile.

"That sounds very good, cher, and thank you again for letting me sleep here." Francis turned to go into the room, watching Alfred go into his bedroom just next door and calling over his shoulder.

"No problem, dude. G'night, Francis!"

Francis, on occasion, had trouble sleeping. Sometimes it was thoughts of the past that kept him awake, sometimes those of the present, the weight of his people on his shoulders. Sometimes it was no strain of thoughts in particular that prevented him from a peaceful sleep, but a warm buzzing in his head. A craving for physical intimacy, heat, to touch and be touched.

On that evening, lying in the center of the king sized mattress in Alfred's guest bedroom, it was a combination of all of the above that made Francis lie still and sleepless, staring at the ceiling. It was warm, as well, and he was on top of the covers. He wore only boxers and a t-shirt. Both of which he was beginning to consider removing in light of the seemingly ever increasing temperature of the room. A hand was draped across his forehead. And then he heard it.

At first all he heard was breathing, Alfred's breathing, through the wall. Heavier than normal, uneven. Shifting upwards and shoving aside a pillow, Francis listened closely.

Not only was the breathing out of rhythm and rapid, but it was broken up by other sounds. Gasps, soft but clear. Tiny gasps and quiet moans. Followed shortly by sharp intakes of breath.

Francis bit his lip and edged closer to the wall. Pressing his ear to the cool surface, he shut his eyes.

Alfred let out a low moan, almost indiscernible from the other sounds coming from the other side of the walls. Blankets rustling, movement on the bed, shifting on the mattress. He could see nothing, but Francis' imagination was vivid.

Alfred's back arching upwards, breath hitching in his throat, eyes fluttering between shutting tightly and staring wide eyed at nothing. His hand, beneath the blankets, beneath the sheets, inside of his boxers...

Francis squirmed as the noises continued, trying to get his mind to simmer down. His own breathing was becoming faster, as was his pulse, and he wasn't proceeding very successfully at reigning in his thoughts. Maybe it really was time to remove the rest of his clothes.

Little did Francis know, on the other side of the wall, Alfred was thinking of him. In the day, out and about, he might never let himself think that he had feelings for the Frenchman. Might not even admit to himself that he found him attractive. But in the dark, alone, at night in his almost too warm bedroom... That was another story.

His lips shut hard, and then they parted again, involuntarily, as another sound of pleasure that he'd tried to hold back escaped his mouth. He was never very good at being quiet. But really, what teenager is?

As his hands moved, rubbing himself the way he liked, the way that made his hips buck, Alfred imagined Francis. His lips against his neck, his hands exploring his skin. He could almost feel the scratchy brush of his stubble against his flesh, smell the glass of wine he'd had with dinner on his breath, hear him moaning.

Alfred's eyes opened again, but this time because he was certain he did hear something. He'd heard a groan. He licked his lips, deciding it must've been his imagination in the moment. Then it came again, definitely Francis, and definitely out of pleasure.

Alfred felt chills. His pace, sliding his hand up and down, picked up and he gave up trying to get his breathing steadied and to quiet himself down. He wanted Francis, and perhaps Francis wanted him too.

"Alfred..." Francis let slip in a very soft and breathy moan. He bit his lip hard, squeezing his eyes shut and praying that the young American hadn't heard him.

He'd pulled his shirt off and tugged his boxers down to his knees and was touching all over himself, envisioning what it'd be like if it was Alfred and... He'd lost control. He had let himself be too loud. Hearing him just a room away, practically feeling him on top of him. It was too much.

He stopped what he was doing and pulled up the boxers, regretting the situation he'd gotten himself into. But regret didn't make his needs any less intense. He got out of bed, thinking he'd tiptoe to the bathroom.

When he crept from the room, however, Alfred was standing in his doorway. His hair was a mess and his pajamas were disheveled. His breathing was heavy and hot, and there was a very obvious bulge in his pants.

"You said my name," Francis swallowed hard as Alfred spoke, trying to stand so his own erection might not be so visible outlined by his tight boxers.

"Maybe I did, but you were moaning first, cher." Francis shifted his stance again. It was looking less and less likely he was going to be able to make his originally planned escape to the bathroom. Alfred was bright red.

"I was just seeing what you'd do if I did." Alfred replied hurriedly. The Frenchman rolled his eyes.

"Oh, right, because you surely were not touching yourself like a horny teenage boy." Francis' sarcasm was thick as he spoke, almost more so than even his accent. Alfred crinkled his nose.

"And what were you doing, then, huh? Touching yourself like a perverted old man?" Alfred's hand were on his hips, a stubborn gleam in his eyes. Francis made a face at having been called old, and thought the perverted part to be debatable, but shrugged his shoulders lazily.

"I would not call myself that, but sure. That is what I was doing." Francis' blunt honesty made the rosy color of Alfred's cheeks darken further. "But you were as well, n'est-ce pas?

"Well, yeah. I was." Alfred admitted reluctantly, running a hand through his hair. The two of them stood, neither speaking and creating a weighty silence, in the hall between the two bedrooms, looking at each other.

It was a fork-in-the-road moment. Either they could turn around and go back into their rooms and try and actually go to sleep, or they could explore the feelings (at least sexual, if not more) that they clearly had for one another.

And despite his inexperience in this field, it was Alfred who launched them down the latter of paths with a few steps forward and a quick movement that had Francis pinned against the wall and their lips interlocked.


End file.
